Moonlight
by Roza Freeborn
Summary: Vampires seem to think they're the only supernatural beings that walk the earth... they've never been so wrong. Brand new charactors, plus the usuals. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The moon itched persistently at my skin, silvery moonlight pouring in through the open window as the darkness outside came to life. Fireflies danced out in the meadow, tiny balls of buzzing light; an owl hooted a hunting call, an eerie sound as it swooped for its doomed dinner; wolves, hundreds of kilometres away, sang for each other, calling out to the stars. It was all so _loud._

I scrubbed harder at the plate, my knuckles going white and the tips of my fingers slowly but steadily turning into pale little prunes. I frowned down at an insistent mark, putting all my concentration into that one tiny stain.

_You will _not _change. You will_ not_ change…_

It wasn't even a week before the full moon. I'd only just gone through this two weeks ago. I would _not_ change. I couldn't change, I wasn't old enough yet. At least, that's what Ian had said. I'd come damn close to it last month, though…

I shuddered to myself, pushing the memory aside. I scrubbed harder. Stupid plate.

_You will_ not_ change._

"Miami?"

I nearly topped myself on the ceiling. As it was, I leapt a foot in the air, letting out a high-pitched sound that might've passed as a squeal if I were a ditsy little girl. Which I wasn't, so it didn't.

I spun, my long white-blonde hair flying across my shoulders. I let out a breath as I spotted the gangly figure in the doorway to what passed as our living room. "Jesus, Zeno. Watch it," I rasped, my voice scrapping against the sides of my throat. I cleared it. "You damn near gave me a stroke."

"Sorry," he mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with long-fingered, chocolate-skinned hands. He didn't bother to comment that no one in this house should've been surprised by _anything_, that I should've heard him, as he slid into his usual seat at our spindly little dinner table. His head all but fell off his shoulders. "Couldn't sleep."

I gave a slight laugh, reaching over to kiss him on the forehead. "Really? You look pretty beat to me." I turned back to the plate and frowned. I could've sworn that flower was a stain. Shaking my head at myself, I set it on the drying rack and reached for a dirty mug.

"There's too much noise," he muttered into his hands.

I froze. My heart concurred. "What do you mean?"_ Oh God, please not him too. Whatever's wrong with me, just leave him out of it._

He sniffed tiredly. "Ian and Pria."

My whole body relaxed as my brain managed to process what he'd said. I let out a long breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding and I closed my eyes briefly. "Right. Yeah, me neither." My sister, Preoria, and our Alpha, Ian, had been going at it for eleven months now and, as far as I was concerned, they were still in the honeymoon phase. Apparently, they were the love of each other's lives, and I never disputed that – except for the nights they conveniently forgot that we all had super hearing.

"So _that's_ why you're doing the dishes." I could hear the sneaky grin in his voice, a tell tail sign that he was about to make some derogatory comment about my aversion to any sort of manual labour whatsoever.

I didn't care. I was grateful for his company; whatever took my mind off the moonlight. I could already feel myself relaxing, the tightness in my limbs slowly abating. "Yeah, you wonna help?"

He laughed and abruptly cut off. We both felt it at the exact same time. That chill in the air that only animals – including us, according to Ian – were able to detect; that crisp scent that stroked my nose and made the hair on my arms stand up, little goose bumps running down my limbs. I felt like my skin was coated with frost.

Vampires.

I couldn't be sure whether they were Moroi or Strigoi. I'd only ever met one vamp, and he'd been one hell of a Strigoi; almost decapitated me. I still had a jagged scar on my neck. Luckily there was one sure cure for a Strigoi bite.

A werewolf bite.

But what's done is done and there was nothing I could do about it now. I was grateful. Given the choice, I'd rather be a 'wolf over a Strigoi any day of the week. If Pria hadn't been seeing Ian at the time, I wouldn't have had the choice.

But it didn't matter what type they were. They were here, they'd found us, and we'd all been given permission from Ian to kill on sight should that ever happen. And, for once in my life, I was going to follow an order to the letter.

"I don't know what Ian thinks he put in the food, but it may have been cement," I said casually, praying that Zeno would take the hint.

After a slight, barely noticeable pause, he laughed. The thing about Zeno is that when he laughed, he _really_ laughed. It was the only time he actually seemed his age. I only knew it was forced then because I knew him so well, no one else would've been able to hear the slight tightness in it. "Now that you mention it, it did kinda taste like concrete," he said thoughtfully.

I put a grin into my voice, keeping the conversation going while I strained my senses, turning over every nook and cranny in the house. "I miss Sierra's fried chicken."

"Mm… and her caramel sundaes."

"Oh, and her lasagne."

"Oh yeah," Zeno agreed enthusiastically, almost fooling me. I smiled. He always had had a silver tongue.

I was about to remark on how maybe that was why Ian made us do so many laps of the lake when my ears picked up the slightest of movements, right behind me. And it wasn't Zeno.

Instead of looking through the window, I focussed on the reflective glass, just barely keeping my heartbeat even when I spotted the tall, shadow cloaked figure, emerging from the darkness in the doorway. It slinked forward without a single sound. A long, silver stake winked in the moonlight, held lightly in his hand.

Not a Strigoi then. They couldn't touch the charmed stakes that the Moroi made for their Dhampirs. In fact, it most probably wasn't even a Moroi. It's rare to ever see them getting any action – that's why they have their Dhampir guardians to protect them.

It didn't matter. A Dhampir was part vampire, and that was one part too much in my book.

"Hey, Zen?" I very carefully, slowly, pulled a long, lethal looking knife out of the soapy water. It glimmered at me. At least Dhampirs were easier to kill than straight vamps. They didn't have the unnatural strength and speed of a Strigoi, or the elemental powers of the Moroi. I didn't need a charmed stake.

"Yeah?"

_Wait for it._ I paused as the Dhampir crept closer._ Just a little further…_

"_Down!"_ I barked, whirling and letting the blade fly. Zeno was under the table before I'd even finished getting the word out of my mouth. The knife spiralled in the air, a streak of silver, heading straight for the Dhampir's heart.

I don't know how he got out of its range. Ian always said that my aim was unmatched, inescapable. I was the newest 'wolf and I was already the best fighter. But one moment he was there, just waiting to be skewered, and the next he was gone.

Well, not completely.

The only warning I got was a change in the air and, suddenly, I was hurtling across the room, the Dhampir's hands locked around my neck. Something in my back cracked as it hit the wall and my head reverberated with the impact. I tried to cry out but the shout was cut off by a slight squeeze, gurgling and dying unattractively in my throat. I knew he could break my neck right then and there if he wanted to.

But he didn't. I waited for the unmistakeable snap, wondering if I would feel anything before my spirit left the building, but it never came. I couldn't see and it was a second before I realised that I had my eyes squeezed shut. I forced them to open. If I was going to die, he would not get the satisfaction of seeing me scared.

The blood froze in my veins. If he hadn't had his hands around my neck, my jaw would've hit the floor. "_You?_" I managed to choke.

He was frowning at me – with dark brown eyes. _Not_ rimmed with red. How was that possible? I would always remember his face; _that_ face. The fangs as they sunk into my neck… It was definitely him.

So why was his grip warm?

Why was he not bleeding me dry?

Why did he look like a normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill Dhampir?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

He stared at me, seeming just as stunned. His mouth opened to say something and I flinched before spotting his canines. They were totally normal. His mouth snapped shut as if he'd just realised what he was about to say was utterly stupid. He shook his head.

And let me go.

_What the hell?_ What was he doing? I was supposed to be dead by now. Not that I wanted to die – I was totally fine with living for a little longer. But the last time I'd seen him he'd been hell bent on ripping my soul out and replacing it with a cold, insatiably bloodthirsty monster. He would've succeeded if Ian hadn't turned up. He'd almost turned me into a Strigoi. He'd _been_ a Strigoi himself. So… _what the freaking hell is going on here?_

I fell in a crumpled heap to my knees and choked and gasped for air, forcing my throat to unconstrict and do its job, all the while trying to keep my failing, wavering vision on the… _thing_. It stared down at my doubled frame. I couldn't tell whether he was going to kill me or not; he still looked kind of shocked. Distantly, I realised that he was quite attractive. All tall, dark and handsome, he kind of looked like something out of an old western movie. He was even sporting a long, tan leather duster. He looked like the kind of guy Pria would've instantly dragged me away from. He started to say something again–

Suddenly, Zeno bolted out from under the table and threw himself onto the Dhampir-Strigoi-thing's back, wrapping a long arm around its neck and clinging for dear life. That seemed to snap him awake and he reached over his shoulder with both hands, pulled Zeno off by the scruff of his neck, as if he weighed nothing more than a feather, and threw him against the wall. My heart leapt and my eyes burned with fury as the boy struck the wood; as he cried out in pain._ Oh, now I don't care _what_ you are._

"You'll pay for that,_ vampire_," I snarled through my teeth. My eyes abruptly focussed, my breathing pre-fight calm, and I launched myself at him, full on Imma-kill-you mode. He was prepared though, and he had obviously gotten over his surprise pretty fast, as he gripped my wrists before my fists could reach his face. What he wasn't prepared for was how prepared_ I_ was. I yanked my arms down, let my body fall to the ground and he fell in a heavy heap on top of me.

Totally vulnerable to a knee to the groin.

He grunted and, taking advantage of his distracted state, I managed to roll us so that I was on top of him with my knees locking his arms in place and my fingers clasped tightly around his neck. He choked and bucked but probably wasn't expecting me to be so strong. Ian reckoned we were stronger than the average Dhampir and now I had the perfect opportunity to test that theory.

I thought it was going well. I had him right where I wanted him. And then his arm managed to squirm out from my hold and struck me across the face. I swore I felt a tooth crack. He shoved upwards and I almost went flying. Almost, because I suddenly felt a hand lace through my hair and _pull._ Hard. Whoever the hand belonged to was strong enough to drag me across the floor, kicking and yelling and scratching like a lunatic cat on steroids. You have no idea how painful it is to have someone _ripping your hair out at the roots_ until it actually happens. It's like someone's trying to yank the top of your head off with nothing but brute force.

I twisted and snarled and screamed profanities like something possessed as I was towed across the linoleum, my bare feet sliding uselessly on the slick tiles.

"Fiona, stop," a commanding voice barked through the room. The pulling lessened – if only marginally – and I stopped screaming, gave one final, neck-straining tug and slumped at my hijacker's feet. I glared up at the only face I could see: the towering, duster-wearing, freaking scary-looking Strigoi-Dhampir-Cowboy. I panted indignantly at him.

"What? You wanted me to let her strangle you?" an outraged voice sounded behind me, growing higher as the sentence went. It was a girl. A _girl Dhampir_ had me by the hair. I almost had an aneurism. Stupid freaking vampires.

I smelt him just before it happened. Fiona had hauled me all the way to the living room door and, just as Cowboy opened his mouth to snap back, a lumbering hulk of deep brown fur and fury erupted out of the shadows with a ground-shaking roar.

Ian.

His leap was perfectly measured and I could almost feel the brush of his fur on the back of my neck as Fiona was flung into the nearest wall, instantly out cold. He didn't get a chance to finish her off as _another_ Dhampir emerged from the hall leading to the front door, stake faithfully in hand. How many were there? Ian only just avoided being impaled as he skittered away, light on his paws despite all the muscle-weight.

"Don't kill them!" a female voice yelled from the hall to the _back_ door. They must've had us totally surrounded. And what was this about _not_ killing? Vampires didn't take prisoners. Their justice system was more corrupt than the damn humans'.

Didn't matter. That just meant that they were being held back by some weird orders from high up their food chain while we had total freedom to rip them limb from limb. Mu ha ha.

An impressive snarl wrenching from my throat, I lunged at Cowboy, careful to watch the way he moved. He shifted his weight and I feinted, going for his left. Ever the highly trained slave, he slipped to the side and gripped my wrist, spinning so that he was right beside me with my arm firmly in his grasp. I reacted quicker than I think he thought I could and ploughed down on his instep with my heel. But he obviously wasn't taking my size for granted anymore and my foot didn't get the satisfaction of cracking a few bones as he swung me by the arm and, somehow, he ended up pressing me against the wall again. The living room wall this time, but it was a wall all the same. He had his forearm firmly across my chest and my whole body was locked in place by one part or another of him. I went floppy, hoping that he might be taken by surprise again. No such luck.

"We don't want to hurt you," Cowboy finally spoke to me. His voice was low and resonating – the voice of a natural born leader. A slight Russian accent wove through the sentence. I had the feeling it could get quite menacing if he wanted it to. But right then, it was as if he was trying to sooth me, like a parent telling their child that "everything will be okay" on their first day of school.

Ha.

I struggled violently, to no avail. The fight raged on behind him – I couldn't see passed his _big head_, but I could hear it clearly. The crash of someone landing in a heap and knocking over the huge, ugly vase by the couch; the smashing of cheap china as something collided with the old wooden cabinet in the kitchen; the unintelligible battle shout of a Dhampir and the responding snarl of a 'wolf. It was utter chaos. It was lucky that Ian had his place so far up in the ranges that no one sane dared look up here. Well, no one _human_ and sane, that is. It helped us avoid having to explain to the cops the huge hole in the wall when one of us cut loose and got a little overzealous; or the deer blood all over the place when those of us who were old enough got back from a full moon. Being this far away _kept_ it as just deer blood too – a frenzied 'wolf isn't going to stop and think about how much yummier a human would be when it can smell a fresh young doe just a few miles away.

Though, when it comes to vampires, cops are always a great distraction. Humans see what they want to see, which is great for us. You can always explain away a big-ass, pissed-off wolf to a human, whereas a guy with military training and a deadly weapon rates _way_ high on their Most Wanted list. As far as I know, the human police can't imprison animals. Yet, anyways. Not in this country.

_Vampire_ police, on the other hand…

"Calm down," Cowboy said, somehow managing to sound both pacifying and commanding at the same time. "We're not here to harm you."

"Like. Freaking_. Hell_," I bit the ends of the words off as I tossed my weight around like a pinned puppet. "_Get off me, you sonofabitch!"_

Suddenly, Zeno was there. He kicked the back of Cowboy's legs with enough force for me to feel. The Dhampir's startled weight shifted slightly – just enough for me to drive the palm of my hand up into his face. There was a satisfying crunch as the blow hit home and Cowboy let go of me, almost tripping over Zeno as he moved back a little, just out of striking distance.

I could see the rest of the fight now. Ian was taking on three Dhampirs at once, blood matted his rich fur and I didn't want to think too hard about whose it was. It couldn't be his. He was the best at everything – most of all, killing things. I knew he could look after himself. Couldn't he?

Pria was at the base of the stairs with the shotgun, letting off ear-splitting shots whenever a Dhampir dared get too close. Pria was one of the quietest, level-headed people I knew and every time the gun cracked with gunfire, her eyes all but bulged out of her skull. She was slowly being herded back up the stairs.

Mac was in his wolf form, snapping and growling and leaping all over the place. His motto was literally "bite first, think later." Half the time, I didn't think even he knew which way he was going to attack from. I'd lost count of how many times he'd told me "if you don't know whose going to be your next victim, how they supposed to?" It was good logic. But it also meant that he tired a lot faster than the rest of us. His tactic really only worked with a few people. This looked like an army.

Holden was still in his human form, a fatal looking sward – yes, I said sward – in his hand and a frightening gleam in his eye. His injuries were easier to see without all the fur. There was so much blood on him; I didn't know how he was still standing. It was weird seeing sweet, gentle Holden covered in gore. His scruffy, blonde hair was dark and slick with the stuff. And at his feet…

_Oh God_.

Delilah. His twin and the most beautiful girl I'd even known, inside and out. She lay limp on the floor, a pool of red slowly staining the carpet around her. Her deep green eyes stared unresponsively up at the ceiling. She couldn't be…

_Oh God._

We were losing. We were so outnumbered. We had no hope of getting out of this. They had us all cornered.

_Delilah…_

I my shocked state, I didn't see the blunt end of the stake heading for my head until Zeno called a warning. By then it was too late. There was a blinding flash of whiteness behind my eyes and my head reverberated with the impact. I was faintly aware of my weight shifting, falling to the floor…

And then, the darkness had me.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

There is a very thin line between a migraine and wishing that your head would just fall off and be done with it. I'd just crossed it.

My skull felt like it could literally crack in half and my eyes seemed determined to dig their way to the back of my head. I forced them to open into little slits and a small, involuntary groan pushed itself out of my chest. I couldn't smell a goddamn thing around the sickening coppery stench of my own blood that filled my nostrils. My mouth was dry and tasted like metal. Maybe the stake was lodged in my brain. It felt like it.

"It's… a kid." A voice echoed from what sounded like far away. A male voice.

"It's also an unknown to us. Don't let her size fool you, Adrian," another voice replied, female and aged, sounding in-charge.

"It's a _girl!"_ the male voice responded, suddenly loud and sharp in my unsteady ears, sounding stunned and appalled. "She can't be older than sixteen."

"Fifteen," I rasped, making them jump. Score. I choked on the aftermath of that small word and it took me a moment to recover enough to look up at them. My temples throbbed, but I managed to muster up enough strength to glare at the little group scattered through the dank room in front of me. "You assholes."

After a moment, a tall, dark haired, pale skinned, green eyed guy who stank of Moroi waved his arms in my direction and gave the lady beside him a raised eyebrow. "What she said."

The lady took no notice. She had her stone-like eyes trained on me like I had just sprouted an extra set of limbs. It was more than a little creepy. "What is your name?" she barked abruptly.

_Like hell, lady._ "Barbra Streisand," I spat.

Her gaze went – if it was at all possible – even harder and she strode toward me. I resisted leaning away as she put her face close to mine, but allowed my nose a wrinkle or two as her distinct dhampir scent hit my nose, somehow managing to penetrate the smothering scent of dried blood. No need for them to think they smelt like roses. "Your _name_, girl, and don't play with me." Her tone was weird, like she couldn't decide whether to scold me like I was a little kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar or treat me like the prisoner I was.

I laughed a hoarse bark. "Well you left that one wide open, didn't you?"

Someone laughed behind the lady and she stood straight again. I gasped in a lung-filling breath, as if I'd just emerged from a cloud of toxic vapour. The lady completely ignored that and turned to look at whoever had laughed. "Something _funny_, Guardian Hathaway?"

Footsteps echoed through the shadows as the guardian in question sauntered out from the back of the tiny room, a small smile tugging the corners of her lips up. She was, frankly, gorgeous, and walked with an air of pure confidence. She was probably only an inch or two shorter than me – which was quite an achievement for a non-Moroi or -werewolf – and was dressed in a crisp, perfectly tailored suit with a blood red logo of some kind flashing on the collar. It was only then that I realised that I was still in my pyjamas: a plain, red singlet and black (ahem) boy-shorts. She looked like some sort of Middle-Eastern princess while I looked like I'd been dragged kicking and screaming out of my house in the middle of the night–

Oh. Right.

"No, no. Carry on, Guardian Hathaway. You're doing _such_ a great job." The guardian leaned on the wall to my right and grinned at the lady. I cocked a brow and looked between the two of them. They looked nothing like each other. The older lady was at least a good foot shorter than the younger one and she had fiery-red hair, pulled into a sensible bun at the back of her head. They couldn't be related.

Vampires were so weird.

"Well if you think you can do better then, please, be my guest," Mother Hathaway gestured at me, taking a step back.

Hathaway No. 2 shrugged off the cold-grey, windowless wall and pulled up a chair. She sat right in front of me, just inches out of spitting distance. Damn. She leaned forward on her elbows, giving me a level look, like I was her equal. I almost snorted out loud, wondering if they had Interrogation 101 at their special vampire schools. "What's your name?"

"I already told you," I said, making my eyes all big and round and innocent looking. I even gave my head a little tilt, like a confused puppy. "Barbra. But you can call me Barb." I smiled sweetly.

Her lip twitched but she managed to keep her gaze even. "Who is your leader?"

At that, I just had to laugh. It hurt like hell, but the question was so ridiculous that I couldn't help it. Eventually, after a long, awkward silence on their side, I succeeded in swallowing the body-shaking, tear-worthy laughter and I looked back at her as calmly as I could. "Dude, we're not aliens," I replied, forcing another snicker back down my throat.

"What are you, then?" The question was immediate, as if she'd been waiting for the opportunity to ask.

_Huh…_ I surveyed the vampire-filled room for a thoughtful moment. The harsh yellow hospital-style light flickered dully and my brain pounded steadily against my skull in protest. "You really don't know, do you?" The only response I got from that was a few blank stares. "I mean, he said you didn't, but I always figured you at least…" I trailed off, both because they all knew where I was going and for dramatic effect. I laughed in bemusement and leaned back in my chair, getting comfy. "Oh, this is great. This is just perfect."

Guardian Hathaway leaned further forward, tiny wrinkles just beginning to crease her flawless brow. "So if we're so clueless, why don't you enlighten us?"

I pretended to think about it. "Nah. I think I'd rather watch you squirm."

There were four other dhampirs loitering along the walls of the tiny room, standing at attention like good little soldiers, besides Adrian and the Hathaways: two on one side, two on the other. I was willing to bet that there were more behind me too – probably guarding the door. Probably the only door. I'd seen enough spy movies to know the basic layout of an interrogation room, and there was no way they were going to risk me finding an alternative route out of the place.

"This doesn't have to be difficult,"

The thing about vampires is that they seem to think, since they're oh so secret and powerful, that they need to know everything there is know about everything. They think that everyone should jump at the chance to spill their guts for them. They think they're so important. So… dominant.

So I knew _exactly_ how to piss them off.

"Maybe. But this is more fun." I grinned at her evilly.

Hathaway No. 2 asked the same questions over and over again, getting exceedingly less patient, and, each time, I replied in the same manner.

"Who is your leader?"

"Yoda."

"Who do you work for?"

"Monsters INC."

"What's your name?"

"Buffy."

"What are you?"

"A real boy!"

"Who do you work for?"

"Haven't we already been over that one?"

"Who do you work for?"

"None of your beeswax."

"Who do you work for?"

"You d–"

"Who do you work for?"

"I can't–"

"Who do you–"

"_Fuck you!"_

It took hours. At least, I think it took hours. It felt like days. It could've been minutes. All I know is that I was cold and exhausted and we were all running low on patience. My chest felt tight and my muscles were starting to twitch as my limbs went stiff. My hair hung in limp strands across my back and itched at my neck. I was starting to really feel the bruises that Cowboy had given me. My back throbbed, whatever I'd cracked in it burned and stung whenever I moved. My temper wasn't doing so hot either.

"_Who do you work for?"_

"_The United States government!"_ I yelled at her and then slumped in my chair, my hair hanging like a white-blonde curtain over my face. "I work for the United States government," I repeated dully, staring at the chilly, concrete floor beneath my bare and freezing feet.

Silence. I risked a peek up through my hair to see them all casting glances at each other, each face holding a varying degree of shock. Except the Moroi dude. He just stood there, squinting at me. I couldn't depict the different emotions running across his face.

Hathaway No. 2 turned back to me, her face now carefully blank – if a little curious. "The human government?" I swallowed visibly and she leaned back in her chair. "Then what were those _wolves_ back at your stronghold?" She said the word like she didn't believe for a second that that was what they were.

I paused slightly before taking a deep breath. My ribs tweaked painfully, like they were made of creaking, cracked glass. I wouldn't have been surprised if one or two of them were broken. "They're genetically modified. They act as our guards. Like… warnings. For _your_ kind." I glared, trying to get all of them into my line of sight at once.

"So the humans know about us?" Mother Hathaway demanded. There was a very faint, almost unnoticeable, hint of fear in her voice.

"Oh we know _everything_ about you," I murmured menacingly. "Right down to where your precious little royals live, with their precious little thrones and their precious little traditions… Oh yeah. We know all about your _people._" I spat out the word with the same insinuation in my voice as Little Hathaway had talking about Ian and Mac.

I was about to go on when one of the dhampirs standing along the wall behind my interrogator leapt forward, stake gleaming silver in the dull light. Her surprisingly delicate face was an image of absolute hate. Both Hathaways sprung at her, along with the other three dhampirs, wrestling with her flinging limbs in a desperate struggle to restrain her. I felt restrictive hands on my own shoulders, as if they thought that I might somehow break free and launch myself at the crazy vampire. The Ivashkov guy quickly backed away from the scuffle. "Let me kill the little bitch!" the girl yelled at them repeatedly. "Let me at it!"

I was faintly offended at her choice of noun behind the surprise. I had _not_ expected _that_.

Eventually, the five of them managed to calm her down enough to let her go – though I wasn't so keen on that idea. The hatred still burned in her heavily pencilled, dark brown eyes as she glowered fixedly at me. "We should stake it now, while we have the chance. We could say it tried to escape. That we had to kill it." She growled through her teeth to the other dhampirs without taking her eyes off me.

"You need to stand down, Guardian Fuller." My eyes flickered between Cowboy and Fuller as he tried to subdue her. I still didn't know what was up with him, but, as far as I was concerned, they were just as dangerous as each other at the moment.

The authority in Cowboy's voice managed to get Fuller to drag her eyes off me. She now glared at him. "But–" she began, her tone high and indignant. I was suddenly sure that this was the dhampir who'd hauled me across the kitchen floor by my hair.

"I said, stand _down_, Fiona." The Russian accent strengthened as the firmness turned into outright power. There was no doubt of who was in charge of this expedition. "Now," he rumbled.

She panted indignantly at him for a few tense moments before giving in. Her shoulders dropped a fraction and she stared stoically at the wall behind me, carefully avoiding looking directly at me. "Yes, sir."

They slowly went back to their stations, the guardian beside Fiona keeping closer to her than before. Instead of sitting back in her chair, Hathaway No. 2 stood behind it, fingers gripping the wood.

"You may want to think about spending less time interrogating minors and more time controlling your pretty little soldiers, huh?" I mocked, tilting my head in a very canine manner. Pria always said that I reminded her more of a wolf than a human, even before we were turned.

A sudden panic barrelled into me. Where was Pria? Was she okay? The bloodied image of Delilah flew in front of my vision… her eyes blank and haunting… glazed over like marbles in a glass doll's face. She'd always kind of resembled a doll in my mind – all porcelain skin and perfectness. The thought made me feel sick now. I thought I might throw up. Where were the others? Were they… _Oh God, Delilah…_

I hid the panic-attack, throwing my usual sardonic smirk over it like a rug over a stain. There was no pleasantness left in Little Hathaway's exotic brown eyes. She began to say something biting when the Moroi broke in – speaking directly to me for the first time. "Cut the crap, kid. I know you're lying," I turned a glare on him and he grinned, showing all his teeth. Including a pair of pearly-white fangs. "It's my superpower," he mocked.

There was a moment of silence, and then I let out a short, bark of a laugh and shook my head. "I'm sorry, but you should've seen your faces." I laughed again and put on a high, mocking voice. _"Oh no! The humans know!_ Priceless."

My gaze slid over the dhampirs, taking them in one by one. Fiona seethed quietly in the corner, glaring at me like I'd just run over her cat. Her dyed-black hair swept over her forehead in an emo-girl fringe, partially obscuring her left eye. I don't know what I ever did to her. They were the ones who broke into my house in the middle of the night and knocked me into a coma. _She_ was the one who almost pulled my hair out at the roots trying to yank my head off.

The guy beside Fiona was big, burly and looked ready for world war three. He looked like he would've made a better terminator than Arny himself. He scowled sternly at the air in front of his face, thick brows pulled together in a frown.

Little Hathaway was giving the Moroi a look I couldn't quite decipher and Mother Hathaway was the perfect picture of being there without being there. I don't know how the guardians did it, really. They just stood docilely in the shadows, watching over their bloodsuckers, when they could be out _doing_ things. Like hunting the Strigoi that were picking them off like target-cans. Not that I cared whether they were wiped out or not. In fact, the only reason I was ticked off by their blind obedience was because they were so self absorbed that they forgot that they weren't the only species on the planet. Humans were being slaughtered just as much as their beloved leeches. 'Wolves, twice as much. The Strigoi had almost eradicated our whole species a few hundred years ago, back when everyone knew about everyone. Now that I thought about it, I was actually a little surprised that they didn't already know what I was. They were so pedantic about their traditions and their history. We were, technically, even older than they were. Older than the humans – older than most animals, actually. We knew how to survive, we _have_ survived, and we _haven't_ done it by baring our doors, sitting on our asses and hoping like hell that the enemy doesn't decide to come in through the windows.

I could feel my glare turning into an outright blizzard as my eyes hit Cowboy. He'd come forward slightly to stand just behind Little Hathaway, his stance protective. I caught and held his gaze, letting him know that I remembered. That I hadn't forgotten how my neck had turned into something like fire as his fangs had sunk in to my skin; how I'd fought Ian when he'd stabbed Cowboy in the back and dragged me away; how I'd spent days recovering from the endorphins rushing through my bloodstream; how the only way I had survived the huge blood loss was by being turned into a thing of myth and legend, something almost as uncontrollable as a Strigoi at the wrong moments. I let him know, with that one, silent stare, that I remembered everything in minute detail. And that I would never forget.

I could almost see him trying to keep his face professionally blank, could almost feel the tension radiating off of him. His breathing was measured and perfectly even, despite his racing heart. I could hear it, loud and clear. That wasn't normal, not for a newbie, but at that moment, I couldn't really care less. I was focussing on getting my point across.

The final guardian was a long, lean shadow, leaning casually against the wall. Not standing all stiff and solid and tough. Not glaring at me like I was the scum of the earth's shit. In fact, he was... _grinning at me._ Like a complete idiot. The corner of his lip was pulled up in a picture of sheer snarky confidence and, when he caught me looking at him, his teeth flashed in the darkness. I couldn't see his eyes through the deep shadows cast from his artfully mussed swoop of midnight-black hair, but I could almost _feel_ them dancing at me. I couldn't tell whether it was mocking or not, but, if I hadn't known any better, I'd have said he was checking me out. Weird.

Mother Hathaway sighed and began to say something superior when I cut her off, tearing my eyes from the guardian. "Look. I'm not going to tell you anything. Nothing you could ever possibly think of doing to me would make me tell you anything. So you may as well just cut me loose and we can pretend this never happened. Sound good?"

More silence as they contemplated that suggestion. Then Little Hathaway turned to the Moroi. "Adrian..."

"Nope," he said instantly, shaking his head and crossing his arms in an oddly childlike manner. "No way."

She heaved a sharp sigh and raked a hand through her deep brown, almost black, hair. "Please, Adrian. You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

He stared at her silently. She stared back. I could almost see the battle of wills going on in the air between them. Eventually, though, she must've won, as he slowly let out a breath and strode forward to take her chair. He straddled it backwards and looked me straight in the eyes. Irrelevantly, I noticed that his eyes were an amazing shade of green – kind of like the moss Zeno and I used to have moss-fights with at home... I stopped that thought dead. I _would not_ think about home in past tense.

"_Oooh_, bringing out the big guns, are we?" I mocked, my voice all sing-song-like. "I'm positively quivering."

The Moroi actually smiled, but it seemed a little forced. He didn't seem to like what he was about to do, which sobered me up. What _was_ he going to do? "What's your name?" He started simple.

I was about to shove the question back in his face, but then I began to think about it. Why not? I mean, it wasn't like my _name_ was going to give them anything that they could use against us...

I frowned. Hadn't Ian told me about this? I knew it was important, but I just couldn't remember what he'd said. My brain was made of cotton, all dense and fluffy. I couldn't seem to find my way around it to remember what the hell it was that was so important.

_Ah, what the hell..._ "Miami. Miami Flynn."

"And who do you work or?"

"Our Alpha. Ian Connolly." Wait, hadn't Ian told me not to tell them that? Something about...

The Moroi had his mouth open, ready and waiting to pop another polite query, when I scrunched my eyes shut and started yelling. _"Stop! Get out of my head, you fucking prick!"_

"Well, that worked," I heard the Moroi say to his companions, his voice drenched in sarcasm. If my wrists hadn't been bound tight behind the chair's back, I would've clapped my hands over my ears – just in case he didn't need eye contact.

"_Screw you!"_ I snarled, just for good measure, my eyes still clenched shut.

There was the unmistakeable groan of wood against concrete as the Moroi stood up again. "I'm out. You want answers, you going to have to do it without me," he snapped, his voice weirdly terse, like they were personally offending him by having me here. His footsteps echoed through the silence and the slam of a door behind me almost broke my ears. I winced and opened my eyes slowly, inch by inch.

Little Hathaway stared at a point behind me, obviously the door, with an almost pained look on her face. Cowboy put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He'll only yell at you, Rose," he whispered in her ear, most likely not even thinking that I may have better hearing than all of them put together.

"Maybe he should. I shouldn't have brought him down here," she hissed back, sounding angrier at herself than anyone else.

"You know we had to try." She rolled her eyes in reluctant admittance. "He just needs time, Roza. He'll be okay."

She sighed and nodded, though her face didn't look entirely convinced. Her suit ruffled slightly as Cowboy gave her shoulder a squeeze. Her gaze focussed on me again and all emotion just fell out of it. She looked as tired as I felt. "Take her to the cells."

Before I had time to wonder what kind of cell would be harder to get out of than this one, a cloth was clamped over my mouth and nose, the hand holding it stiff and immoveable. I threw every bit of weight I possessed around wildly; swearing into the stinking fabric, but, slowly, the figures in front of me began to fade...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Turns out they had managed to find an even tougher prison cell to stow me away in. Everything was white. White walls; white ceiling; white bed sheets; white lighting. It was like they were trying to make it as un-dungeon-like as physically possible. That wasn't exactly a good thing. All the lightness was painful to my already aching eyes and it contrasted sharply with the natural sunlit hues that I had grown accustom to in the past year. It even _smelt_ white. Actually, it kind of smelt like a hospital – that gag inducing bleach smell that burrows its way up through your nose and into your head and stays there for a week after you leave the place. I'd always hated hospitals. They all had that same air of sorrow and pain covered up with drugs and machines; of sickness behind hushed voices and closed doors; of death creeping steadily through each room, slowly draining the weak and the wounded. I never saw it as a place to get better, just a place to die. That's what this place felt like. It made me feel like there was a death sentence hovering over me, waiting for the exact right moment to drop. It made me feel helpless. Stuck.

I hated that feeling.

"Let me out, you sons of bitches!"I yelled to the guardians that I couldn't smell or see, but just _knew_ were there. And they were going to listen to me whether they liked it or not. My voice was already hoarse.

"That's my mother you're talking about."

I jerked back from the cold steel bars as a tall figure, complete with a rolling, honey-coated accent, materialized on the other side. I mean, I was 6"0 and, according to Pria, due to get a lot taller, but this guy still topped me by a good six inches. Ian had always told us that Moroi were tall and supermodel-like so I guess it made some sense that it would carry through in the genes... But he and Cowboy were just ridiculous. Maybe it was a Russian thing.

He still had that lopsided grin plastered to his face and I caught a glimpse of shinning ice-grey eyes under the slight flick in his fringe. His hair was the deepest of blacks and bits of it flicked out at seemingly random angles, like he'd just rolled out of bed and walked out the door. It worked for him, though. He'd probably spent less time on it than I had spent on my own sun bleached locks, and that was _really_ saying something. Guys had it so lucky.

"Oh gosh, I'm terribly sorry, sir. My sincerest apologies," I put on my best I'm-mocking-you-because-that-last-thing-that-came-out-of-your-mouth-was-utterly-rediculous-and-I-just-can't-resist-the-opportunity-to-rub-it-in-your-face voice and bowed as deeply as I could without my hair brushing the floor. According to Zeno, it was very different from my usual I'm-mocking-you-because-you're-stupid-and-I'm-tired-of-this-conversation voice. He'd once told me that I had eighteen different sarcastic tones. It became kind of a habit that, whenever I'd use one, he'd tell whomever my scorn was directed at what it was that had set me off.

So I think you can imagine why I thought I was dreaming when exactly that happened.

"What she means is that she thinks your last statement was completely ludicrous," a tired, gravelly voice emanated from the hall to Mr. Tall Dark and Annoyingly Smouldering's left, just out of my range of sight. My breath came to a ragged halt in my throat.

"Zeno?" I launched myself at the bars again, ignoring the dhampir in front of me completely. I also ignored how my voice cracked in a very girl-like manner. Hey, we all have our moments.

"I'm good," he replied, his voice low and raspy. "And yes, I did already tell them my name."

Something at the back of my mind kicked itself for being so stupid, the rest of my brain was busy taking in every inch of him, scanning his body for injuries and preparing to declare war should there have been one less hair on his head than when I'd last seen him. He didn't seem to be in any physical pain, but I could see the strain of exhaustion in his eyes. Sweat beaded his forehead and his shoulders stood rigid and shaking slightly, fighting with the fatigue to look okay for my benefit. That tiny little quiver in his limbs was what set me off. I knew that it was more than weariness – he was terrified. _Nobody _scared my boy.

My eyes narrowed to slits and swivelled to find Cowboy's face, standing with the guardian, Rose, behind Zeno with his hands clasped firmly around the boy's bound wrists. "You rat bastards..." I growled. Actually. It bubbled up in my throat and refused to go back down, rumbling through me like the bass in a stereo. My eyes burned with rage and my hands were suddenly so tight on the bars that my knuckles creaked painfully. I could barely see through the pure fury filling me up and scalding my veins like boiled water and my whole body felt like an electric wire, humming with anger. My teeth clenched so hard my jaw felt like it was going to snap off. I'd never been this angry in my life. Not even when Pria had "borrowed" and "lost" my very first, _very _expensive Converse All-Stars "What did you do to him?" The vicious snarl vibrated through my chest so violently that I could barely get the words out of my mouth.

Cowboy's eyes flickered to Rose's and her eyes flickered back. Their hands also went straight for the stakes at their belts.

"Back up," the guardian in front of me rumbled back, his voice surprising close to becoming its own snarl. I turned back to him and had to work to keep the strength in my growl. He was pulled up to his full height and his face was, for the first time, dead serious. He suddenly looked a lot older and more experienced – like a guardian. His eyes burned at me, willing me to be a good girl and stand down. The air grew thick with tension in our struggle for dominance. He took a step forward and the thunder in my throat went up a few decibels. My lips twitched back from my teeth slightly. My skin crawled with the need to rip someone's head off. "I said, back _up,"_ he snapped, coming close enough for me to reach through the bars. My hands shot out, but his were faster. He clamped my wrists tightly and came right up to the bars, his face just _that_ close to my teeth. Something canine and primitive in me reared its head in frustration and I glared as hard as I could, straight into his eyes. I would _not_ back down to some _vampire_.

That's the thing about 'wolves. Encounters like these were like shaking hands – both parties clenching as firmly as possible to show the other how powerful they were. Most humans don't realise how significant that simple gesture is. That it's a fight for control, not just an easy greeting. It's the same as dogs sniffing each other's buts; or 'wolves making eye contact. Sure, he wasn't 'wolf, but the principle still stood. We were still in a mental battle, neither willing to be the first to break.

It was Zeno, of all people, that put an end to it. "Miami, stop," he rasped, his trying-to-be-brave voice barely audible above my growling.

The tremor in my chest jolted to a stop, catching somewhere at the back of my throat, without my permission. I silently ordered my eyes to stay right where they were. I swallowed so that I could talk without biting my tongue off. "Stay out of this, Zen," I murmured slowly, trying not to snap at him, my teeth clenched and my mouth barely moving. My gaze stayed locked with the guardian's, both of us absolutely still.

"I'd listen to your boy, _devushka__._" The threatening gleam in the guardian's eyes blazed icy fire. "Unless, of course, you _don't_ want a cell-mate." His brow cocked behind his hair.

I resisted the urge to frown. What the hell did he mean by that? Suddenly, my face betrayed me and my mouth fell open slightly. _He can't mean what I think he means... _I blinked at him and he let go of my wrists, apparently deciding that I wasn't going to try and kill anyone. In the immediate future. "Now, if you're finished, go to the back wall, kneel, and put your hands behind your head," he said curtly, before I'd even had time to process what was happening. "Any funny business and you'll be all on your lonesome. Got it?"

I clenched and unclenched my hands, nails digging into my palms. If I backed down now, he would win. He'd be superior. I couldn't let one of _them_ gain any kind of dominance over me. What kind of 'wolf would that make me? I mean, I hated bowing down to _Ian_, and he was dating my sister. _He'd_ saved my looked after the pack. This guy hadn't done squat to deserve authority over me. I just couldn't do it.

But I also couldn't leave Zeno alone here.

I forced my right leg to pick itself up and move away from the bars. Slowly, one foot after the other, I made it to the back of my cell, never once breaking eye contact with the icy-eyed guardian. Inch by inch, I lowered myself to the ground, the cold concrete biting into my bare knees. I locked my fingers behind my head. "Good enough?" I snarled through my teeth – normally this time.

After a moment, the guardian seemed to realise that I wasn't playing games with him. His shoulders relaxed, ever so slightly. He took a step back and motioned with a jerk of his head to Cowboy and Rose. She unlocked the door with some sort of key card and Zeno didn't so much as lift a finger to resist them, stumbling ever so slightly when Cowboy let go of him.

As soon as the door clanged metallically behind him and locked with a mechanical beep, all thoughts for anyone else went flying out of my head. I shoot up off the floor and all but tackled Zeno, folding him into my arms. We swayed a little before finding our balance. I squeezed as hard as I could without hurting him and tried to focus on breathing slowly as his arms came around my waist in response. He gripped me twice as hard. I felt tears prick my eyes and I turned my head away from the bars, tucking Zen's braided head snugly under my jaw. I couldn't tell which one of us was shaking, but could feel a hard, continuous tremble coming from someone. "It's okay," I whispered, well below the hearing range of any vampire. "You're okay. I won't let them touch you. I promise."

He nodded and I felt him sniff discretely. "Me too," he murmured into my shoulder. I didn't bother telling him that the day I needed protecting was the day that hell froze over and was invaded by flying pigs with moustaches and machine guns. I just held him and listened to the faint footsteps of the dhampirs retreating as big, hot, silent tears ran over the eleven-year-old 'wolf's cheeks and into my singlet.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Um... knight to G5."

My eyes closed and my legs crossed under me, I smiled. "Queen to C3. Check mate." I tilted my head back, my hair tossing itself in a white-gold halo on the bed behind me, and opened my eyes to grin at Zeno. "Gotcha."

He scrunched his nose at me and put his feet in my face. Real mature. I laughed and shot forward, pretending to gag. It felt weird to laugh, considering the circumstances, but, the way I saw it, it was either that or I'd go insane. There was no way to tell how long we'd been in the cell, only that I'd watched Zen sleep for a while (I couldn't make myself close my eyes for more than was absolutely necessary for blinking) and we'd played five rounds of what-am-I?; three rounds of twenty-questions; and eight– wait, _nine_ matches of mental chess. We'd also gone through _Bottles of Beer_, twice, and had sung _I Know a Song that'll get on Your Nerves _until I'd got sick of the sound my own voice. I could only imagine the headaches we were giving the guardians out in the hall.

(Insert evil laugh here.)

I got up and shoved Zeno back on the bed good-naturedly then stretched until my bones gave satisfying popping sounds. "What's that make it now? Six to three?" I yawned.

"I lost count at five," Zeno yawned back at me, flopping on the frail, barely-big-enough-to-hold-a-five-year-old cot and putting his hands behind his head. "What time to you think it is?"

I paused. "Let's ask, shall we?"

Zeno's brow scrunched in confusion and then shot up as his eyes popped open faster than what could've been healthy. He shook his head frantically and pushed himself up onto his elbows as I turned and sauntered over to the bars.

"Hey! Hey you!" I barked as my fingers coiled around the cool metal. I could just make out the profile of a guy to my left, towards the end of the white-coated hall. He twitched slightly. "Yeah, you. What time is it?" Silence. "Yo, I asked you a question, dude. What. Is. The. _Time?_" Still no response.

I turned slightly to lean my shoulder against the bars, facing him. I could just distinguish a nose and jaw and what I thought might be a suit. These guys seemed pretty nuts about their outfits. I gave him a few moments before sighing dramatically. _May as well have some fun_. "Oh, don't tell me. You're foreign too." I made a disgusted noise at the back of my throat and shrugged off the bars to walk slowly over to the corner he was closest to. "No comprende? You speakie-de-English...? Well, shit. No wonder you guys are so stiff all the time – you can't understand a thing we're saying. Here, I'll teach you a new word." I made my voice all high and slow, like I was some old fart primary teacher talking to a five-year-old. "It starts with an 'A', do you know what that is? _A. Aaaah... Ass. Aaaassss... _Come on. I can't help you if you don't try." I saw his jaw clench and his chin drive up a little as is mouth stiffened. I could almost feel him rolling his eyes. "_Aaaasss... aaaassho- assho... hole. Aaassshooole. _That's you. You're an asshole. Cool huh?"

"Aw, don't listen to her, Johnson. She's just bored," a slightly slurred yet suave sounding voice appeared behind me, coming from the other end of the hall. I went rigid instantly, recognising it. "And you know how teenagers can get when they have nothing to play with."

Johnson quickly stood to attention and came fully into my view, his jaw on the verge of falling open. He looked relatively young, just out of school, probably. "Sir, you can't be down here!" he exclaimed, then seemed to remember who he was talking to, his face visibly correcting itself. "I mean, it's dangerous, sir. We have strict orders not to let anyone near the prisoners."

"Yeah, but I'm alright. I can look after myself."

My lips pursed as the guardians face slowly went even blanker and his eyes slid off to some far away land. "Yes. Of course you can, sir. I apologise," he murmured, his voice flat and dazed. A disgusted shudder shook me from the base of my spine to the back of my head. No one deserved to be controlled like that.

"No need to apologise, Jonny. Just give us a minute, will you?"

Something like confusion passed over Johnson's face, but was soon gone again. "Of course, Mr. Ivashkov. Not a problem," he said, and quickly made himself scarce. I almost wished he'd stayed.

After a while, I decided to break the silence, staying right where I was with my back presented to him like a wall between us. It went against every ounce of my existence to have my back to the enemy, but I couldn't risk him catching my eyes. "Sent you to finish the job, have they?" I bit the words out, trying to speak around the hard lump of solid dread in my throat.

"And what job would that be, Miami?" My jaw clenched the sound of my name coming out of his mouth. He'd stolen it from me. Without my permission.

"Don't play dumb, leech," I snapped, just barely stopping myself from turning to glare at him. Goosebumps scuttled across my neck and chest and down my arms, my heart doing weird little jumpy things in my chest, bouncing against my ribcage like an imprisoned animal. "If you're gonna kill me, at least be straight about it."

There was a long, heavy silence and I was just about ready to turn and risk the mind control when he spoke again, his voice sounding extremely sober and uncomfortably close. "I'm not here to kill you," he said, right behind me. I leapt away from the bars and spun, unable to restrain the instinct that ordered me to face him. I quickly averted my eyes and stared resolutely the air above his head. He smelled like cigarette smoke and lots of whisky. In my peripherals, I saw him raise his hands, palms facing me, as if he were trying to pacify a wild dog. That actually wasn't too far from the truth. "I just thought we could talk."

"I'm not talking to _you_." I forced the words out of my suddenly constricted throat and they came out filled with hate and malice. I felt the growl steadily burning up in my chest again. Distantly, I noted that Zeno had climbed off the bed and now stood behind me, silent support radiating off of him. His erratic heartbeat shuddered through my head. Suddenly I was yelling. "I'm not talking to any of you! You broke into my house! _You killed my family!_" My voice broke and ripped swiftly into a growl at that last word. Because, somehow, I was sure – they were all dead. The only family I had. Gone. And it was _all their fault_. My whole body was blazing, filled with rage and sorrow and fear and–

Pain.

I was on my knees before I fully recognised what was happening, joints clicking sharply as they hit the ground. The muscles in my calves pulled taught and burned glaringly, like the world's worst cramp doubled by a hundred. An agonised cry sliced the air to pieces like shards of glass, burrowing into my ears and spearing that part of my brain, just behind the eyes, that doesn't get a lot of use. The part that only a select few people have. The part that opens its sleepy eyes and gnashed its teeth when you go through a Phase. The animal inside every 'wolf.

"Mi!" There was a panic-filled shout behind me, somehow managing to cut through my own cry and snatch my attention. A rapid _thud-ump thud-ump thud-ump_ hammered against my own heartbeat, which was steadily getting faster. I could taste phantom blood in my mouth; feel muscle and bone crunching under my teeth...

I gripped my head in my hands and brought it down to the cool floor, now freezing against my feverish skin. _No no no no..._ I tapped my forehead on the floor, not lightly. I felt bile singe the bass of my tongue. "Out..." I ground through my teeth to anyone that would listen. "_Out! Get him OUT!"_ The words got stuck in my throat, grinding up against sandpaper, and I couldn't be sure if anyone had heard. They had to hear me. "_GET HIM OUT!"_

A bone in my chest somewhere cracked and pain shot through me. Something wet poured from my eyes and covered my cheeks and nose with salt as I screamed at the floor. All I could see was a constant blur of white and grey, mottled in with a deep red at the corners. A distant part of my brain wondered if it were blood, but the rest of me was too occupied to give it much thought. The scalding liquid in my veins pulsated through my body as my heart sped into an uneven gallop. I couldn't be sure if I was breathing or not. I couldn't feel anything outside of the constant, crushing, searing pain that pounded against my very being and pulled at something buried at my core, tearing at my soul.

"I need a key!" Someone yelled. Feet pounded.

"No, wait. Sir!"

"_Give me the fucking card, Jonson!"_

My head felt like it had been drained of all the moisture that kept my brain afloat and my eyes throbbed with needles. The torture kicked at me from all sides, breaking things and ripping even more that precious fluid from my eyes. My voice was hoarse and filled with fire. I didn't know whether I was even screaming out loud anymore. There were things that the Alpha had told me, things that helped with the pain and kept others safe, but I just couldn't dredge the memories out of the churning pool of utter pain that my insides had become. I stayed in my ball and cried at the concrete, wordless nonsense that did nothing relieve the torment. Right then, I would've welcomed death with open arms. I would've begged the vampires to kill me, had I been able to make sense of anything even slightly word related.

"_No! No, Miami! Let go of me, you bloodsucking freak!"_

More bones cracked; more muscles ripped; more tears were spilt on the floor. All I wanted – needed – was for it to end. I didn't care how. I just couldn't go through this anymore. Not again. Not now...

_Stop stop stop please just stop please oh God stop..._

"What the fuck is going on here?" A voice boomed, a sudden spurt of bass slicing through the endless, high-pitched wail that was resounding through my skull. There was a pause, split only by a broken, harsh whimpering sound. _"__Svyatoe__der__'mo__..."_

"Dude, if you're not going to speak English then we don't need you," a slightly strained voice bit back. There were so many of them now. I could smell them; hear all their pulses. _So many hearts..._

The howl was strong and filled with hunger as it erupted from my chest and soared through the cell. There wasn't much that could express emotion better than a wolf's howl – of any species. I used to sit up at night and listen to the wolves back home calling to each other, spending hours just translating. Every call was unique, each one containing a certain quality that discerned it from the others. Right then, I didn't think that you had to be any kind of wolf to understand the yearning in my howl. Actually, I didn't think much at all – just that there was only a few inches worth of steel separating me from my kill.

"_Close the door!"_ the bass-voice bellowed and there was a clang that shook the insides of my ears as I hit the bars. I let out a frustrated scream and clawed through the spaces, aiming for anything I could hit, completely ignoring the pain still tearing away at my insides. My nails collided with something briefly and there was a sharp hiss of pain. My fingers came away filled with cloth – nothing more. I screamed again.

"What's going on, kid?" The voice sounded like it was seconds away from turning and running, just managing to hold on to something resembling calm. All drunkenness was gone out of it.

"I– I don't know," the voice broke and gave a croaky cough as it cleared. "This shouldn't be happening…"

"What shouldn't be happening? What is this?"

"I... She's… I think she's going through a Phase."

"A what?"

My next scream cut-off whatever it was that Zeno replied with, shredding my throat. I tasted blood as I slid down the bars, back to the floor. My hands cramped on the freezing metal and my whole body shook with tremors hard enough to make me clench my teeth to prevent chopping my tongue to pieces. There weren't words to describe the feelings stampeding through me. "Pain" just didn't cut it. The steady stream of tears had made my eyes all scratchy and sore and my nose was blocked beyond repair – except for the blood. God, it was all I could think about. I couldn't even concentrate on the movements inside me as my body pulled itself together again.

I don't know how long it took. It definitely wasn't one of those blink-and-you-miss-it moments. My cries slowly dwindled to quiet, rasping gasps as the pain subsided to a leaden, throbbing ache that pumped against my bones. I finally ran out of water and stopped crying and my mouth tasted like coppery blood and bile. I kept my head pushed up against the now blessedly cool steel bars and concentrated on my breathing – rather than how much I really need a shower.

A figure slowly approached and knelt in front of me. I couldn't even force myself to look up of my own free will. A warm hand came through the bars – despite a shuffle of protest from one of the others standing along the wall – and tilted my chin up. I stared dully into the flawlessly angled, grey-eyed, half-shadowed face. The guardian didn't ask questions, just studied my face as if it held the secrets to the universe, like he could read my mind if he looked hard enough.

After a while, he spoke, without looking away from me. "Johnson, get a medical team down here, now." His rolling, accented voice was calm and steady. And it made me feel better. If only slightly.

There was a pause. "Don't make me compel your ass, Jonny," the Moroi, Adrian, snapped, finally losing patience with the man.

"Actually, you could all leave. If you don't mind," the guardian in front of me said in a voice that allowed no argument. Ian used to use it all the time. Usually I hated it, but right now it actually brought me some comfort down in the cold, sterile network of a vampire prison. "I'd like to have a word with our little prisoner."

Right. Back to hating him again.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The only one he had trouble making leave was Adrian, but a few reassurances and the promise of a nice, long smoke and lots of alcohol finally won him over.

I caught the end of a quick conversation between the Moroi and dhampir while I was being poked and prodded by a straight-to-business, kind-faced doctor and her tentative nurse. "Go easy on her, huh? That looked kind of... intense," Adrian muttered in a low voice before turning back to me and Zeno, huddled on the floor. "I'll see you later, kiddos." He tipped his imaginary hat and waltzed away, back to freedom.

The medical team checked me over thoroughly and found nothing out of the ordinary – except for a few bruises from me throwing myself and a kick-ass headache. Personally, I felt like I'd been hit by the Titanic. The doctor insisted on taking a look at the grey-eyed guardian's arm before leaving, noticing the big chunk of material that I'd taken out of his suit. He looked at her as if he'd completely forgotten about the bloodstained scratches on his upper arm. Guess I needed a manicure.

Then we were alone. I'm sure if I'd been a little more with it and my head wasn't about to just let my eyes fall out, then I might've been more worried, but I wasn't. My legs had started cramping – in the normal way – and I'd twisted around to prop my back against the bars with Zeno tucked under my arm. The guardian came and slid down beside me, facing the opposite direction, just outside arms reach. Not that I was in any condition to attack him again, and I think he knew that. That didn't mean he was stupid.

We sat in silence for a while and I couldn't tell whether this was his way of "going easy" on me, or if he was just trying to think of a question that I might be willing to answer. Eventually, he gave up and went with the obvious one. "You want to tell me what that was?"

For once in my life, I couldn't think of a smart-ass response. I could feel my mouth preparing to spout some form of sardonic garbage, but my brain just wasn't functioning right. I was too tired. I also knew that the more I told these people about what we were, the more I was putting the rest of my kind in danger. Both the humans and the vampires outnumbered us a hundred to one and the only thing we really had going for us, should push come to shove, was the element of surprise. If they managed to find a weakness, a crack in our armour, then that was it. We were done. Toast. Finite.

The trouble was figuring out how much I _could_ tell them without _really_ giving anything vital away. And I just wasn't in the right state of mind for that. So I said nothing.

After a few minutes, he sighed. "Alright." He seemed to mull something over. "Is it going to happen again?"

That seemed like a safe enough question. And they were going to find out anyway, if they kept me alive long enough. I swallowed and slowly nodded, trying not to rattle my brain around too much. I shivered, but not from the cold, and Zeno snuggled closer.

The guardian nodded too. Gave his head a flick. That fringe had to be annoying. "Is there anything... that'll help?"

That surprised me. I stared at him, trying to figure out of it was some sort of twisted joke. If it was, it was _so_ not funny. He looked sincere though... well, as sincere as a half-sucker could get. That made me even more confused. "Why would you care?" I wasn't being hostile. Okay, maybe I was, just a little. But I actually wanted to know.

"Because, however much this may shock you, my job is to keep people alive. And, right now, you're my charge. So, if this is some terminal, supernatural illness, then I'd at the very least like to know about it first," he retorted, sounding more than a little out of patience.

_Charge?_ That got me. Guardians were basically just glorified bodyguards – so what the hell would he be protecting me from? _Why?_

The bewilderment must've shown on my face and he gave a short laugh. That crocked, mocking smile pulled at his lips and made his eyes flare underneath the flop of hair, as if to say "Weren't expecting that, were you?" He settled more comfortably against the bars. "Believe it or not, you're not a big secret. _What_ you are exactly, we still don't know, but I'd say that's just as much of a disadvantage to you as it is to us." When it became apparent that I wasn't going to bite his head off over anything, he continued. "Some people don't like that we kept you alive. They don't like the threat that you pose to their way of life. If it were up to them, you'd be dead." He said the word with such finality that I believed him without question. "So, if you don't want to talk, that's fine," he added, getting up and sending one last condescending smirk my way. "But just know that uncertainty can be just a dangerous as knowledge."

He was halfway down the hall before something randomly occurred to me. "Hey, dhampir." I couldn't yell, but my voice carried in the empty whiteness. I heard him stop. He didn't turn. "You know my name..."

I could hear a definite grin in his voice. "Yeah. I do."

I rolled my eyes. _Men._ "What's yours?"

Silence resounded back to me and, just as I was sure he was going to walk away, he spoke. "Anatolii. Anatolii Kedrov."

•••

Zeno and I sat there for a long time before realising how cold the ground was and deciding to crawl into the little, less-than-single bed. It was a squeeze, but we'd shared a four by six attic-room back at home and we both needed the body heat. He had to virtually haul me across the room and, even then, I was shaking so hard by the time we got there that it was all I could to not to hit the wall when I collapsed onto the cot. I gritted my teeth and shuffled over until there was enough room for the boy to slide in. It was actually relatively comfortable, but this was coming from a girl who'd just been beaten to a pulp by her own DNA.

Zeno practically ordered me to roll over and face the wall, his arms wrapping around me easily, lending more warmth than the thin, papery blanket. I'd forgotten how bulky he was for his age. Then again, I was no pixie. My legs had to curl and I was still on the verge of hanging off the end. Holden had once said that I looked like I'd been taken by the hips and ankles and stretched. Mac, thug that he was, had said that it was anything but unattractive – just in fewer, smaller words. Delilah had spent the rest of the week giving him shit about his use of "disgusting, disrespectful language."

"You okay?" I murmured, not able to make my throat do anything louder. I covered the tears in my voice with a yawn and closed my eyes against them, holding the salty water in. I didn't know how I still had anything left to cry out.

Zeno snorted, sounding bitterer than I'd heard him in a while. "Fantastic. You?"

On any other day, that little sarcastic remark would've made me smile and say "That's my boy." It might've even earned him a pat on the back. But the tone he used wasn't right. It was too... tired. An eleven year old boy shouldn't have sounded like that; shouldn't have had to go through this. Zeno was the least cynical person I knew, always finding bright sides and silver linings, but I think he'd finally thrown in the towel. And that just made me feel sick. If Zeno couldn't be cheerful then I didn't have a snowflake's chance in hell.

"Hey," I said, my voice coming out sharper than I'd meant it to. "Don't be like that. That's my job." I softened the scolding with a lame joke, keeping my eyes closed, blocking out the harsh paleness of the wall.

I felt him sigh against my back. "Yeah. Right..."

I frowned at my eyelids. I couldn't think of anything comforting to say – it really wasn't my forte. I still remembered when Pria had been dumped by her first real boyfriend and the only thing I could think of that would've helped was stealing his car. The actual act was a lot harder than I'd thought it would be but the look on his face at school the next day had been totally priceless. Sure, I could give someone a hug and tell them everything would be okay, but, despite popular belief, I actually didn't enjoy lying. Especially to the people that trusted me to tell the truth.

I was struggling desperately to think of what Pria or Delilah would've said, without thinking too hard _about_ them in particular, when Zeno spoke up again. "Mi?"

"Yeah?"

"Just... just promise me you won't send me out again."

It took my already half-asleep mind a little while to comprehend what he meant, but eventually I got it. I winced inwardly. Shit.

"Miami..."

"Zen, you know I can't–"

"Please."

I sighed, swallowed, and sighed again. "Yeah... Yeah, okay."

"Swear it?"

"I swear."

There was silence as he judged whether or not I was being genuine or not. Evidently, he decided I was. "Okay." He relaxed into the bed. "Night."

I licked my dry, salt covered lips. "Night."

I think it was the first time I had ever lied to him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Yo my peeps :P**

**Sorry I haven't done an A/N til now, I only just realised how to do it :L My life is just one big blonde moment unfortunately.**

**Well... Hope you guys have liked the story so far. There's a bit of romancy shiz in this chapter ^_^ and next chapter there'll be some plot line movement (finally).**

**Just a specially lil thanks to Lady Night Rose ;D the only reviewer I have -_- *hint hint nudge nudge* Seriously guys, reviews would make me write SO much faster. Just sayin'.**

**Alrighty then :3 I do not own VA. Enjoy :D**

* * *

Chapter Seven

Despite how much my brain screamed and yelled and kicked at the rest of me, I just couldn't make myself go to sleep. It occurred to me that I hadn't _actually_ slept – unconsciousness didn't count – since the army of vampires had broken into my house and killed my family. I did manage to keep my eyes closed for a few hours, though, which helped a little. I just lay there and concentrated on my breathing and nothing else, just like Ian had taught me. I blocked out the world and everything in it. Including my aching limbs that I was too scared to move in case they decided to turn on me again; and the occasional rustle of a shifting dhampir; and the memories of fiery pain and throat-wrenching screams; and the fact that I was now the only family that Zeno had left; that he was the only family that _I_ had left. Everything was just so miserable, and that wasn't my style. I could be a bit of a cynic sometimes, sure, but I wasn't going to look at a butterfly and say "With colours like that, a cat's sure to find you somewhere."

Finally, I managed to _actually_ stop thinking about everything at once. I lay perfectly still and just breathed – in, out, in, out… and repeat.

When Ian had started the exercises I had been a wriggling mass of impatience. He'd told me he'd teach me how to use my assets in a fight and to "stay calm in a chaotic environment." The last thing I'd thought that had meant was sitting and _breathing_.

"_This is ridiculous."_

"_It's not. If you'd just–"_

"_It is. And you said you'd teach me how to fight. No one said anything about meditating."_

"_What happens when you panic, Mi?"_

_I sighed and rolled my eyes behind my closed lids. "You… lose focus." I took a wild stab in the dark._

"_And what happens when you lose focus, Mi?"_

_Ugh. It was going to be one of _those_ lectures. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me, oh Great Wise One?"_

"_Don't get smart. Think," he replied firmly._

_I sighed again and just sat there. I figured if I waited long enough he'd either tell me or get bored and let me go, but when it became obvious that I wasn't going to get my way, I actually thought about it. "You don't try so hard?" It came out as a question._

_I could hear the smile in his voice. "And what happens when you don't try, Mi?"_

_I sighed, yet again, and shook my head, finally realising what he was getting at. "You don't get what you want."_

"_And what is it that you want in a fight, Mi?"_

"_To win."_

"_To live. If you lose it for one second in a fight, then you're finished. One second is all it takes for the opposition to kill you, Miami. I don't intend to lose a pack member because she freaks out and can't concentrate in a messy situation." His voice was calm and level, but I could feel the impact in the statement like heavy, muggy, water-filled heat clouds. "Before you learn to fight, you need to know that you'll be able to remember what you've learnt. That you're not going to take one look at the bigger, stronger enemy and lose control of the situation. You need to know that you can hold your own when you need to."_

"_So breathing is going to help with that?" I didn't bother hide the sarcasm in my voice._

"_Yes."_

_I waited for him to bestow some more of his infinite wisdom upon me, but got nothing but nothing. After a few uncomfortable, fidget-filled minutes, I sighed. "Are we done yet?"_

"_No."_

"_How about now?"_

_There was an unmistakable smile in his voice. "No."_

"_But I'm hungry."_

"_Miami…"_

"Mi… Miami, wake up. _Yoo-hoo_…"

I rolled onto my back, almost falling off the bed, and threw my arm over my face, blocking out the harsh light that managed to penetrate my eyelids. "Mmawanna…" I grumbled.

"Wake up. They brought food," the insistent voice boomed in my head.

"Nuffamuckay."

Hands gripped my shoulders and shook in what I'm sure was supposed to be a gentle manner, but ended up almost dislodging my head and wrenching another disgruntled groan from the back of my throat. "Maa…"

"Wake up!"

"_What?"_ I forced my eyes to crack open, letting in tiny slits of burning, white light. My mouth felt wrong, like it was filled with cotton wool. It tasted bad too, but I won't describe it – for your stomach's sake. My head buzzed painfully, swarming with angry, territorial wasps. I'd felt something like this before, only I'd had a _hell_ of a lot more fun getting this way last time.

"They finally brought some food," Zeno said, ignoring my ticked-off tone. He sounded a lot more excited than he had last night – or whatever time it had been. At least that was something. "It's nothing fancy, but it's still food."

_That's the Zeno I know and love,_ I thought, sitting up gingerly. I put my head in my hands and scrunched my stinging eyes shut, my elbows digging into my knees. My stomach churned and twisted at the very thought of food, but I asked anyway, just to let him know I wasn't quite dead yet. "What is it?"

"Stake and vegetables." I smelt it just as he said it and I had to stop myself from doubling over and retching. "The vegetables are mushy and the stake's kinda rare, but at least it's cooked. You never know with suckers."

My lids were still blocking the light from my eyes and I didn't notice the plate coming at my face until it was right under my nose. The stench was overpowering and I yanked my head back, glaring at the muddle of food as if it had spat at me. Zeno's brows went up, small lines popping up on his forehead. I had to squint as the whiteness of the cell pierced my retinas. I wrinkled my nose. "You have it," I forced out, tying not to breathe too much.

Zeno frowned. "But–"

"Zen, trust me, if I eat that, it's just gonna come straight back out again. Just… take it. _Please_."

He shrugged and pulled the plastic plate away, emptying it onto his own, identical platter without any further encouragement – no self-respecting 'wolf was going to turn down a dish full of food, no matter how unattractive it may be.

There was silence as Zeno dug in. Well, no, not silence. In fact, the dull scrape of the plastic cutlery against the plate and even the chomping of his teeth beside me grated inside my ears, forcing my jaw to clench and my eyes to scrunch so hard they ached. My breathing whooshed in my head, unbearably raspy and loud. There was a mammoth clock somewhere out in the hall that battered against me, a relentless, staccato rhythm that made me want to be sick. I still couldn't make my eyes open to anything more than a painful squint and the smell of food mingled with the too-clean stench of the cells stung my nose and made me not want to breathe at all. I knew I shouldn't have been feeling like this, but I couldn't push my brain to think about it any further. I just had to get out.

I stood so fast I wobbled a bit and Zeno shot straight up to grab my arm, steadying me. "What? What's wrong?" His voice struck my skull and rebounded against its insides, frantic and worried.

"I'm fine," I rasped, the words fading away as soon as they came out of my mouth. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Zen, I'm fine. I just… I need air." I pulled my arm away and swayed slightly before setting off for the bars, placing my feet carefully and keeping my eyes fixed on a stable spot in front of me.

I managed to get to the bars and wrap my fingers around them before my legs gave out. I hit the floor hard and the impact sent wave of pain through my entire body, clicking my teeth together and pushing the air out of my lungs. I shook my head, trying to clear it.

"_Mi?"_

I tried to say I was alright, but he was yelling through the bars before I could make my mouth do anything more than open. I wasn't alright, of course, but I didn't need him knowing that.

The hall became a blur of frantic, confused movement and, before I could tell anyone to calm down and just get me some water and an aspirin, guardian Kedrov was kneeling beside me. His eyes were lighter, sharper, than usual and, as I peered closer, I noticed little blue flecks that I hadn't seen before. They shimmered slightly in the white light of the cells, like tiny little shards of glass. I could see every unshaven hair on his jaw – five o'clock shadow was di_-vine_ on him, by the way – and his hair looked plain confused, his emo bangs coming dangerously close to blinding him. He was in grey sweat pants and I could see some _very_ nice muscles through his thrown-on T-shirt. They'd obviously dragged him out of bed and all the way down into the cells for me. I was struggling between feeling touched at the gesture and amused at how his face was going to look like when I told him all I wanted was a drink.

Zeno slid down the bars beside me, staring resolutely at his grimy, horribly bare feet, not quite sure what to do with himself now that help had arrived.

Anatolii dipped his heed and gave me a calm, calculating look, like he was trying to figure out what was wrong with me before he'd even asked.

"What's up, Doc?"

He gave a wry, slightly forced smile, one side of his lips tilting. I'd never noticed how pretty his lips were. They were the kind of lips that most girls would kill for – to have or kiss.

_Holy what?_

I tried to hide me disgust at myself as he replied. "Why don't you tell me?" he murmured, his voice incredibly soft and soothing. It was like honey to my throbbing head.

Still didn't mean he was getting anything out of me. "Now, where would be the fun in that?" I tried on a grin that I'm sure came out as a grimace.

I could see him restraining a sigh of annoyance as his eyes closed over a roll. He shook his head at me, an almost disappointed look on his flawless face. "What can I do to help, then?"

I was gearing up to ask for some very strong painkillers but decided on something even better. "Vodka wouldn't hurt. And none of that pansy crap, either."

There was a snort and a moment of silence before Anatolii glanced at one of the guardians beside him. He looked him up and down. "You heard the girl. There's a bottle behind the books on the top shelf of my bookcase," he said, flicking him a ring of keys. "Touch anything else and I'll have you teaching remedial maths to novices for the next few years." The guardian stared back, surprised, then bolted down the hall like the Russian had just threatened to kill him.

"Oooh, secret stash. Someone's been a naughty boy." I waggled my eyebrows weakly.

His smirk became mischievous, his eyes twinkling at me. "You should see the back of my pants draw," he chuckled evilly.

Okay, just for the record, I can't even remember the last time I blushed. I'm just not that kind of girl. But, pretty sure that there was no escaping the flush of heat by this point, I dropped my head, staring at the floor and huffing a near soundless laugh. Why couldn't I breathe? I had a scary, completely irrational feeling that it had nothing to do with the "hangover".

He mustn't have seen the colour creeping over my cheeks and he took my sudden breathlessness very seriously, his voice becoming all concerned again. I really couldn't figure this guy out. "What is it? Are you in pain?"

I shook my head, deciding against telling him I was just having a completely insane, totally inappropriate gushy, girly moment. What the heck was _wrong_ with me? First I was having freaky-fast Phase symptoms and now I was… _crushing_ on a _dhampir_?

_No way. I am _so_ not._

Was I?

Oh God.

Anatolii's voice pulled me away from my anxiety attack. "Is it happening again?" he asked softly.

I shook my head again, after a small, uncertain pause. I didn't know what was happening to me. I could've been pregnant for all I knew, though I _highly_ doubted it. I wasn't _that_ bad. I quickly blinked back the stinging in my eyes, but not before one solitary, frightened tear fell through my hair and made a small, barely noticeable blob on the concrete. I felt more than saw Anatolii freeze, and I didn't even bother trying to cover up the tiny act of weakness. I just hoped Zeno hadn't seen it.

The guardian reached out slowly, as if he were afraid that I might bite his hand off, leaning closer. My heart speed into over-drive and I thanked my unreliably lucky stars that I was probably the only person in the room with strong enough ears to hear it as it disobeyed every order my brain threw at it. _Stop it. Just calm the hell down. It's not like he's going to kiss you._

Wait, was he?

Did I even want him too?

Jeez, talk about unstable hormones.

Achingly slow, his fingers passed through the bars, parting the broken, scraggly cascade of almost painfully unclean hair that hung in my face between us. I kept my eyes fixed on the tear-blob, avoiding his gaze, as I fought vainly for something resembling calm. In my state of complete and utter sensory overload I was totally at his mercy.

Still moving as if he were patting a wild animal, his hand grazed my skin, his thumb gently wiping away the tiny spot of moisture sitting on the top of my cheek bone, the tips of my eyelashes brushing his nail. I could feel every single millimetre of skin that was in contact with mine – my nerves were sparking and tingling manically. _It's just the Phase_,I kept telling myself silently. _You can feel heartbeats and I'm pretty sure that 'mammoth clock' is a wrist watch. His hand could be a slug and you'd feel exactly the same. It's just the Phase._

I was pretty sure neither of us were breathing. His warm, calloused hand felt blessedly cool on my feverish skin and that's what got the shaking started. I didn't know what was happening, and it scared the shit out of me. I shouldn't have been having Phases this soon. Shouldn't have been able to hear the slightest movement of Zeno's toes; the blood rushing through every person in the room. I was having a major, full on freak-out and the person comforting me was a freaking half-sucker. My life couldn't get any more messed up.

"What's happening, Miami?" the aforementioned comforter said slowly, his accent becoming more and more pronounced as I struggled to silent the tremors shuddering through me. The harder I tried the more violent they got until I could barely think straight.

"I'm fine," I managed to gasp, my throat gagging on air and cutting the words to pieces. "I'm _fine_," I tried again with no better results.

Zeno's hand gripped my shoulder and Anatolii was now stroking my hair. I didn't pull away when his other hand wrapped around mine, still grasping one of the bars.

No one said anything until the vodka finally got there and I reached for it as if it would save my life – right then it really felt like it would. It was already open and I downed a small mouthful without thinking about it. It almost came straight back up again but I managed to hold on to whatever dignity I had left with a pained hiss and a grimace as the burning liquid slid down my throat. I gritted my teeth and set the flask down on the concrete, the alcohol sloshing with my jerky movements and the glass clinking sharply on the floor. I held on to it like a life raft.

"Hey, slow down. It's alright," Anatolii said gently, his right hand still tangled in my hair.

"Jes-s-sus," I stuttered, giving my head a quick shake and instantly regretting the action. "That's…" I looked up and swallowed again, grinning slightly, my eyes watering. "That's some good shit."

The guardian nodded and his lips twitched, but obviously he still thought I was going to die on him. Hey, I still might. "It's Russian."

I nodded back, panting a bit, and lifted the bottle back to my mouth. This time he reached for it too and guided it so that I didn't go drinking myself into a coma. After a few carefully moderated sips I realised that the trembling had dwindled down so that I could actually move without the fear of causing the whole building to cave in on me. The guardians still in the room were silent, doing what they did best, and I could no longer feel the vibrations of their heartbeats in the air. Everything felt dulled. Muted. Normal.

Anatolii's hand finally retreated from my hair and pulled back to grip the bar beside where mine rested. I tried not to look unhappy about the sudden absence of touch. I turned slightly to Zeno and smiled, my face tired and unresponsive. "I'm okay, Zen."

He looked blankly at me for a second then seemed to realise how tight his grip was on my shoulder. "Sorry," he whispered as he let go. I rolled it, trying to get the blood running through my arm again.

"S'okay. I'm good."

Anatolii sighed at that and I turned back to face him, glaring pointedly. "_I'm good,_" I said through my teeth. The last thing I needed was Zeno worrying about me all over again.

He opened his mouth to snap back at me – not very comforter-like – but a sudden commotion cut him off. Raised voices bounced off the walls, coming from where I thought the exit was. Definitely an argument. Anatolii tilted is head back slightly, peering down the hall, but he didn't get up. Abruptly, there was silence. Then the echoing _clack, clack, clack_ of hard shoe soles on even harder ground resounded down the hall towards us, soon followed by the graceful, towering figure of none other than Cowboy. My very own vampire stalker.

"What's going on?" he asked firmly but calmly, a teeny tiny undercurrent of unease slipping through his tone. His deep, almost black eyes darted around the room, scouring it for any and all possible threats. They locked on me. He frowned ever so slightly.

Anatolii sighed. "That's what I'd like to know," he replied, tilting his head at me. There was silence as they waited for me to fill them in. It grew longer. No one moved. Anatolii cocked an eyebrow. "Miami?"

I took another slow, careful swig of vodka, taking my time with swallowing. I took a long look at both guardians. "Yams don't agree with me." I shook my head slightly, pursing my lips in mock disappointment. "Little yellow bastards. I probably should've put that on my check-in form, huh?"

That was my I'm-mocking-you-because-I-am-trying-to-regain-whatever-sense-of-power-I-had-before-the-world-blew-up-in-my-face tone.


End file.
